


You Are Mine

by writetheniteaway



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, BDSM, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, F/M, For later chapters to come:, New Relationship, Sub!Clarke, dom!bellamy, lawyer!bellamy, student!clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28564866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writetheniteaway/pseuds/writetheniteaway
Summary: Clarke's life is a bit of a mess, and her string of bad luck has her calling her roommate Octavia's older brother Bellamy for a ride home. Her roommates much older, and very attractive, brother, who readily agrees to bail her out and thinks nothing of it. There's a hundred reasons why they shouldn't work out, but frankly they're falling too fast in love with each other to care.Written for Bellarke January Joy
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 61
Kudos: 150





	1. The Princess and her Knight

**Author's Note:**

> With tremendous gratitude to [Madison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/changingthefairy_tale) for her stellar beta skills.

Clarke stands shivering underneath the awning of the train station, having sprinted through the rain trying to catch her train back to the city from the small suburban town where she’d grown up a couple hours away. 

Her mom had promised to drive her to the train that morning. But was now passed out cold on the couch drunk or stoned—Clarke couldn’t tell—in no position to drive anywhere. Whichever it was, it left Clarke to find her way to the train by herself. She could have skipped her morning class and stuck around to go another round of screaming and crying with Abby, but a ten block walk in the rain was literally the more appealing option.

Of course, three blocks in the sky had changed from a light but steady rain to a torrential downpour. She had ducked under the awning of a shop to adjust her bag and make sure her laptop would at least stay marginally dry, moving her sweatshirt from the bottom of her bag to cover it and costing her time she didn’t have to make the last train back. Despite her best efforts at a literal sprint, she heard the whistle of the railroad crossing from half a block away she’d slowed her pace; no point in giving herself a stitch running if she’d already missed it. 

So now she’s soaking wet, out of breath, and lost for what she should do next. Clarke opts to make the last half block walk towards the shelter of the station rather than the nine and half back home, weighing her options, of which calling her mother is definitely not one. 

Clarke reaches for her phone and starts to dial her roommate Octavia when the screen abruptly goes black. Dead. Because of course. She starts to dig through her bag for her charger, which is the precise moment when she remembers that she left it on her desk at the apartment and had borrowed her mom’s most of the weekend. Damnit, Griffin. 

Clarke scans the nearly abandoned station—she had missed the last train of the night after all—but manages to find a custodian and begs to borrow their phone. Clarke dials Octavia from memory, grateful it had occurred to them freshman year to memorize each other’s numbers in case they lost their phones at a party. 

“Please pick up,” Clarke mutters. “Come on Octavia.” It rolls to voicemail. Clarke looks at the custodian apologetically as she leaves a message, knowing if Octavia didn’t pick up by now she’s probably asleep and not likely to take her phone off of “do not disturb” until morning. 

She’s almost resigned herself to the ten-block walk of defeat back home when a random memory pops into her head, that Octavia’s older brother Bellamy had a number only one off from his sister’s. 

She didn’t know Bellamy well, other than that he would do absolutely anything for his sister. And if the stories Octavia told were any indication, he would be sympathetic to exactly why turning around and going home wasn’t an option. Before Clarke can think more about it, she quickly asks the custodian if they mind if she tries one more friend. With permission granted, Clarke takes a deep breath and crosses her fingers.

It barely rings twice before a deep voice responds, “Bellamy Blake, may I ask who’s calling?” 

The formality, especially for the fact that she was calling past eleven at night for crying out loud, took her by surprise. 

“Hello?” Bellamy asks again.

“Bellamy? Hi,” Clarke stammers. 

“Who’s this?” 

“It’s Clarke. Octavia’s roommate,” she clarifies, in case he needs his memory jogged. 

“Is O alright?” he asks, tone shifting from polite to panicked in an instant. 

“Yes, she’s great, last I talked with her this morning,” Clarke says, and it stirs something in her jaded soul that she can hear his sigh of relief through the phone. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. 

“I’m...yeah, I’m fine,” she says, suddenly embarrassed at how ridiculous the entire situation looks. Here she is, calling up her roommate’s grown-ass adult of an older brother to try and find a ride home over two hours away when she has a perfectly good home—well, a home at least—to go back to a few blocks away. 

“You don’t sound fine,” he says astutely. “Where are you right now?”

“The train station at Arkadia.” Figuring it will be his next question, she gives up any pretense of getting out of this very awkward conversation. “My mom was supposed to drive me to the train, but she wasn’t able to so I had to walk and missed the last train out.”

“Is she stoned?” he asks, almost clinically, and a sudden rush of anger bubbles up in Clarke’s throat. How dare he ask something like that as if he knew every intimate detail of her life, and ask as if it were the sort of thing he would say any day to boot. 

“Just forget I called,” Clarke says, pulling the phone from her ear to hang up.

“Sorry,” Bellamy says quickly. “That wasn’t, I mean. O and I talk. A lot. Don’t be mad at her. She was worried about you. Wanted advice on how to be a good friend. Leaving her phone on when you’re home for the weekend would have been a good start.”

“It’s late, she’s got an eight a.m.” Clarke says. “It’s my fault I missed the train. It’s-”

“You said Arkadia train station?” he asks, voice further from the speaker of his phone as if he’s multi-tasking. 

“Yeah,” 

“Okay. Just sit tight, I’ll call when I get there.”

“What?” she asks incredulously, pacing frantically up and down the hall. “Don’t be ridiculous, I can just-”

“Stop,” Bellamy says with such intensity Clarke can’t help but listen to him, freezing in place.

. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Do you have a charge on your phone?”   
  


“No,I borrowed a phone to call.” 

“Alright,” Bellamy says, voice steady and calm, a soothing contrast from her mile a minute thoughts. “Just stay near the front door. I’ll come find you.” 

“I...thank you. Thank you so much you have no idea,” Clarke says quickly. 

“You’d do the same for Octavia in a heartbeat I’m sure.” 

“Yeah I would,” Clarke agrees. “I’ll see you soon.” 

Clarke hangs up the phone and hands it back to the custodian with a grateful smile. She stops in the bathroom next, fisting handfuls of paper towels to try and at least get her stuff from soaked to damp, and spends an embarrassing amount of time in front of the hand dryer trying to dry her clothes and warm herself up. She considers changing entirely, but what’s in her bag is almost as wet as what she’s wearing so the effort seems worthless.

Clarke makes her way toward a bench with a view of the front door, stuffs her duffle under her feet, and crosses her arms over her chest to try and keep from shivering under the breeze blowing from the central air. 

She’s not sure when she dozed off, but next thing she knows someone is gently shaking her shoulder.

“Clarke, hey, wake up.” Her eyes flash open, suddenly remembering where she is and who’s waking her. 

“Bellamy,” she greets, groggy from sleep. And cold too, if she’s being honest. “Hi.”

“You didn’t mention that on top of it all you were soaking wet,” he comments with a frown.

“I-” Clarke stammers. “Yeah. It was raining.” 

“Still is,” he informs her, shaking his head to clear some of the dampness from his hair. Clarke frowns, pressing her hands against her eyes to try and wake her body up. 

“I’m so sorry you came all this way in the rain.” 

“Don’t apologize,” he insists, pulling his jacket off. “Here.” He extends his hand to offer her the jacket, reaching for the duffel bag at her feet. 

“I’m not parked far, but I can come meet you at the door if you want.”

“I can manage,” she says with the smallest hint of indignation. She had some bad luck and she was a little cold, she wasn’t dying. 

“As you wish,” he says wryly, tossing her duffel over one shoulder. 

Clarke considers returning his jacket for a moment, but the tremor that rocks through her body wins out over any kind of pride and she slides her arms through the sleeves. Oh, that’s what being warm feels like. It’s been almost five hours; her body almost forgot. She takes her backpack and follows Bellamy back out into the rain, taking quick steps to keep up with his long strides. 

He pops the trunk of his car and drops her duffle bag in, reaching for her backpack next and gesturing for her to head up to the front seat. 

Clarke settles in and buckles her seatbelt, shamelessly burrowing her hands in the sleeves of his jacket, far too long for her arms. His jacket is warm and comfortable, and it smells faintly of aftershave, or maybe even cologne. And that combined with the smell of leather suddenly has Clarke hyper aware of the fact that she hadn’t just called her roommate’s much older brother to come bail her sorry ass out, but she had called her roommate’s  _ much _ older,  _ very attractive _ , brother to come bail her sorry ass out. 

She sneaks a glance at her reflection in the rearview mirror and tries to shake her hair to look a little less like a drowned rat. She hears the trunk slam and leans back in her seat, lest he catch her primping. 

“Here,” Bellamy says, turning the car on and fiddling with a few of the controls. “It should warm up pretty quick, and you can flip the heated seat on if you want.”

Clarke practically moans as the warmth starts to radiate into her skin, and her head quickly grows fuzzy with sleep again. 

“Plug your phone in,” Bellamy says, tossing the charging cord in her direction. 

“Oh yeah,” Clarke says, taking her phone from her pocket and struggling to connect it to the car as Bellamy shifts into gear. “Thanks.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Bellamy asks her, looking at her with an intensity she’s never felt from anyone before. As if her answer would actually determine his next course of action, and not that he was asking out of simple courtesy. 

“I will be.” In truth she wasn’t sure, this was the worst she’d seen her mother yet, but that wasn’t a conversation Bellamy had signed up for when he agreed to come and give her a ride. 

“Okay.” He sounds unconvinced but starts to pull out of the parking spot anyway. 

They make it onto the highway, and the warmth of the car and the steady motion of the windshield wipers starts to lull Clarke to sleep. She stifles a yawn; it was nearly one in the morning, the least she could do is stay awake with him while he drove.

“You can sleep,” he says, as if he’d read her mind. “I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Even night owls deserve company when they’re going this far out of their way for someone,” she counters stubbornly. 

“I live just about halfway between your place and Arkadia, so it’s really not that big of a deal, I promise.” 

“Ok but that’s about an hour from you to Arkadia, two hours back to campus, and then another hour home again. That’s four hours in the car, in the dark, in the rain, for someone you barely know. The absolute least I can do is stay awake while you’re driving.” 

“What time is your first class tomorrow?” he asks her. 

“Ten a.m.,” she replies. 

“Ok,” he says. “Get some sleep then.” 

No one is that selfless for someone who’s practically a stranger. It’s unheard of. And yeah, he may be a night owl, but he’s probably a night owl looking for the thrill of some college girl fawning over his heroics. No, she doesn’t have that sick feeling in her stomach that he wants something out of this. Maybe he just wanted to make up for Octavia being unreliable, but that wasn’t even really her fault. Or maybe, he is just that good of a person. 

The idea of owing someone who was that good of a person made Clarke queasy, because she was certainly not put together enough to be able to repay this kind of a debt. She wasn’t even sure she had cash on her to offer him gas money. 

“Bellamy-”

“Clarke-”

“It’s raining.”

“And dark out.”

“And you hardly know me.” 

“And you needed help. It’s as simple as that.” 

Clarke goes to bicker back at him again but they’re interrupted by her phone coming back to life and vibrating incessantly with messages. A quick glance at her screen shows about a dozen calls and texts from Octavia. 

“I called O and let her know not to worry,” Bellamy says. “So most of those are probably apologies and worrying even though I said I’d make sure you were okay.”

“I’ll let her know my knight in shining armor did, in fact, arrive,” Clarke says with a laugh. 

“So does that make you a princess?” Bellamy asks nonchalantly. He’s relaxed in his seat, chatting with her like they were taking an afternoon drive on a clear sunny day. He had no right to be so relaxed asking her a question like that. No right making her feel this way. And from the looks of it, he wasn’t even trying to. 

Clarke’s face burns hot.    
  


“I used to get called that when I was a kid,” she admits, blaming the late hour for her oversharing. And yeah, at the time the name had fit, living in a house on a hill that may as well be a castle compared to the rest of the town. And maybe her childhood had been a fairytale, back then. But those days were long gone. 

Bellamy recognizes something in her response and chooses not to press her further. They fall silent for a while, and Clarke is grateful he doesn’t press a heavy conversation further. The unspoken knowledge of how she got into this mess in the first place hanging between them. 

As if the universe was determined to make the night even worse, the rain gets heavy again. Thick drops that sound like bullets landing aggressively on the windshield, making it nearly impossible to see the road in front of them.

“You said your class is at ten a.m.?” Bellamy asks her. 

“Yeah,” She replies.

“Would you want to stay at my place tonight? It’s only about ten minutes from here. I could get you back in time for class tomorrow, but at least we’d be out of this mess and able to get a few hours of sleep.” 

“I’m putting you out even more then, you have work-”

“I’d rather make sure I live to get yelled at by my boss,” he says, but risks the fastest of glances in her direction to gauge her comfort level. “But if you wouldn’t feel comfortable with that-”

“No, no that’s not it at all.” Clarke says quickly, realizing only after the fact that it’s the truth. 

She’s maybe met Bellamy in passing once or twice during moving into her apartment or when he’s dropped by to surprise Octavia, but it’s not as though they are friends. And he was an actual adult, with two degrees and a lucrative job and his own place that he owned instead of renting. And they would be alone there for the night. It  _ should _ concern her, honestly. It’s an awkward situation, and her campus safety coordinator would probably even call it unsafe. But it didn’t feel that way to Clarke. 

In fact, warm in his car and wrapped comfortably in his jacket, was the safest Clarke had felt all weekend. 

“As long as you don’t mind, that sounds like a great idea.” 

  
  



	2. No Big Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With tremendous gratitude to [Madison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/changingthefairy_tale) for her stellar beta skills. 
> 
> My apologies for missing the publication date, I am taking the bar exam this week, and that did unfortunately take precedence. I hope that you can forgive, me, and I assure you the next chapter will be up on the first FRIDAY of March, which is a slight deviation from my initial intent but will be the norm moving forward.

Bellamy pulls into his parking spot, backing in neatly despite the continuing torrential downpour. 

“Here,” he says, handing Clarke his keyring with one key sticking out. “G3, last door on the corner. I’ll get your stuff.” 

Clarke takes the key from him without argument,her desire to be out of the rain currently impairing her sense of reason to argue that he doesn’t need to be _that_ chivalrous. She runs the ten or so yards to his front door, fumbling with shaky hands to fit the key into the lock in the dark. 

“Let me,” Bellamy says. He’s suddenly right behind her, hand closing around hers to fit the key smoothly into the lock. He pushes the door wide, places a hand on her back to guide her through, and shuts it quickly behind them against the howling wind. They’re crowded into a cramped foyer. Bellamy scrapes his shoes against the welcome mat before kicking them off and Clarke follows suit. 

“Close your eyes,” he tells her quickly. Clarke squeezes them shut without question, waiting for him to prompt her to reopen them. When she does, the lights are on. 

“Octavia taught me that trick,” Clarke says with a small smile.

“And who do you think taught her?” Bellamy asks with a laugh. “C’mon,” he says, tilting his head up the stairs. 

They trudge up the staircase, leaving raindrops dripping behind them in their wake. Bellamy drops Clarke’s stuff once they reach the top.

“Wow,” Clarke says before she can filter herself. Much of the apartment has an open floor plan, and they’ve emerged from the stairs with the kitchen half enclosed to the right, and a large dining room table scattered with a half dozen files and the remnants of some pizza crust on a dish between them. 

“Wasn’t expecting company,” Bellamy says sheepishly. 

“No I meant wow, it’s lovely,” Clarke tells him. And she means it, too. 

To the left is the living room, completely dominated by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on the far wall. It’s teaming with everything from dollar store paperbacks to vintage leather volumes sitting stoically on the highest shelf. A dark brown leather couch with a comfortable looking L has at least three blankets folded neatly in it’s corner, and Clarke could practically fall on top of it right that second. There are soft blue chairs framing it on either side, and Clarke can just imagine Bellamy and Octavia spending the weekend opposite each other, Octavia no doubt nose-down in her phone the entire time. But Bellamy would be sitting beside his mountains of books, flipping through volumes deliberately, seeking out knowledge, adventure, or both. 

“Come on,” Bellamy says, pulling her from the vision she had spun up in her head about him. God, she needs to sleep before the stupid thoughts running through her head start coming out of her mouth again. 

Bellamy leads her away from the all-too-inviting couch and toward a short hallway, doors closed on either side and the bathroom at the end. 

“I don’t think I have a spare toothbrush, but there’s mouthwash in the cabinet if you want it. Go ahead and get cleaned up, I’ll get you settled.” 

“Thank you so much,” Clarke says again. She shuts the door to the bathroom quickly, taking care of business then washing her face and helping herself to a generous amount of mouthwash, eager to rinse the day away. 

She forces herself to look in the mirror, attempting to brush out her hair with her fingers, lest it become nightmarishly unruly tomorrow morning. She notices then that she’s still wearing Bellamy’s jacket. It’s too large on her of course, but there’s something about it that just makes her feel comfortable, and dangerously so. Like she wouldn’t mind if she had another excuse to borrow it, sometime. And the nagging idea in the back of her head that he would be exactly the type to let her have it again; want to protect her from cold, or wet, or just plain feeling alone. 

_Alright now you **really** need to get some sleep, Griffin_, she chides herself. Lusting after her roommate’s brother because of his hero complex and his apparent leather fetish. 

Oh _hell_. 

She needs to go to sleep. 

Clarke pulls the jacket off reluctantly, folding it neatly over her arm and heading back out to the living room. She doesn’t make it more than a couple of steps before Bellamy calls to her from an open door. 

“Hey,” he says. “Thought you might want to sleep in something dry.” He hands her a smile pile of clothes, some athletic shorts and a t-shirt with the name of his law school splashed across the chest. They smell clean but distinctly masculine, and that revelation is not helping Clarke’s mind settle at all. 

“You’re amazing,” she says. He grins at that, taking the jacket off her hands. 

“Remind me to get that in writing to show O next time I try and give her some sound advice,” he says wryly. He starts to head out of the door. “Get some sleep, I’ll make sure I set an alarm.”

It dawns on Clarke then that they’re standing in his bedroom, and he’s already changed into pajamas of his own—sweatpants and a black t-shirt that leaves his toned biceps on full display. And he doesn’t look like he plans on kicking her out, quite the opposite in fact. He’s got his jacket in one hand and pillow in the other, ready to leave. And that is just one act of chivalry too far for her, she thinks.

“I’m not taking your bed,” she tells him defiantly. 

“The guest room is still covered in boxes,” Bellamy tells her, stirring up a brief memory of him and Octavia having spent the summer cleaning out the basement to their mother’s house. 

“So I’ll take the couch,” Clarke insists. 

“I’ve got some stuff to take care of before I call it a night, I’ll keep you up,” he explains nonchalantly. 

“You’re going to go back to _work_?” Clarke squeaks indignantly.

“Just getting organized before I head in,” he says dismissively. “And the couch is plenty comfortable for me, I crash there half the time without meaning to anyway.” 

“You’re being ridiculous I can’t possibly let you-”

“ _Clarke_ ,” he says, and there’s that tone again. For some reason, she can’t bring herself to argue. “It’s fine. You had a pretty shit day from where I’m standing, and if you don’t get a decent night’s sleep you’re going to wind up sick from being soaking wet most of the day. Just get some rest, okay?” 

She lets out a short huff, yet again unable to argue around his insistent generosity. “Thank you,” she settles on. “For everything.” 

“You’re welcome,” he says. “Have a good night.” 

“G’night,” she mumbles, closing the door softly behind him. 

Clarke changes quickly, rolling the shorts a few times to keep them on her hips, drawing the navy comforter back and crawling into bed. His sheets were some mixture of jersey and flannel, an indulgent feeling against her skin compared to the dormroom sheets she’d fished out of a Wal-Mart clearance bin. 

She thinks of it too late to look around and get a sense of what sort of guy drives four hours out of his way in a monsoon for a desperate college kid. She wonders what she’ll see on his bedside table, but before her eyes can adjust she’s asleep.

*

Clarke jolts awake the next morning, for a moment forgetting where she is entirely. The events of the day before slowly unroll in her mind —memories of her mom barely conscious on the couch that she shoves away with no intention of processing any time soon, aching muscles from running with her duffle bag awkwardly across one shoulder, and the pleasant sensation of stretching out her muscles after having slept without so much as flinching, so exhausted from the night before. 

There’s a knock on the door. _Bellamy_ , she remembers quite suddenly with a flush of embarrassment. 

“Hey Clarke?”

“Morning,” Clarke says cheerily. 

“Mind if I open the door?”

“It’s your room,” she says with a small laugh. Bellamy cracks the door open about six inches, just enough for her to see his face while he speaks.

“You could probably take another half hour if you want to,” he says looking slightly guilty to have woken her. “But I wasn’t sure if you wanted to take a quick shower before we head back.” 

“That actually sounds great,” Clarke says, “if you don’t mind.”

“If I minded I wouldn’t have offered,” he says with a good natured shrug. “Towels are under the sink, and O’s got shampoo in there too, I’m pretty sure.” 

“Thanks,” Clarke says, rolling her shoulders before stepping out of his bed. She would assume he wanted to change the sheets now that she’d slept in them, but she was suddenly self-conscious that he’d think her childish if she left the bed unmade. She settles for straightening the pillows quickly and leaving the blankets folded down, but with a neat crease rather than a chaotic bundle. 

Clarke steps into the bathroom again, takes a moment to relieve herself and wash up before grabbing a towel from the lower cabinet. She starts the shower and let’s the water heat up, stripping out of her borrowed clothes and folding them neatly on the counter as well.

The warm water does wonders for her sore shoulder, but she doesn't let herself linger, not entirely sure what time it is and not wanting to make him any later than he was already going to be on her account. 

Clarke steps out of the shower and reaches for the towel, bending at the waist to dry her legs and squeezing out the excess water from her hair.

She reaches for her clothes next, realizing at precisely that moment she hadn't thought to grab anything from her bag to change into. Spectacular. She could put Bellamy's borrowed clothes back on, but that just involves pulling them off again after and that's not an efficient way to get ready on a deadline.

 _Oh for God’s sake you’re an adult,_ Clarke scolds herself. _You live on a co-ed floor, it's hardly the first time some guy will see you in a towel._ And would it really be so bad if Bellamy got an eyeful of her? It's no big deal. 

Well, she's out of options, either way. She wraps the towel tighter around herself and steps out the door, nearly knocking directly into Bellamy. 

"I'm so sorry," he says quickly, looking her directly in the eye and, she notes with only the tiniest bit of disappointment, no further. 

"I put your stuff through the dryer, which seemed like a great idea at the time but I now realize was actually probably a huge invasion of privacy." He holds out the small pile of neatly folded clothes to her which she takes with a grateful smile. 

"It was really kind," she says, not a hint of doubt in her mind that he meant the gesture completely innocently. "I'll be ready quick.”

Clarke shuts the door to the bathroom again, taking stock of her situation as she sorts out what to wear. She really doesn't think anything of the whole embarrassing fiasco — what's one more detail in an already pathetic story? That is until she holds her lavender lace panties in her hand. The ones she had grabbed from the bottom of her drawer because she hadn't done laundry yet that week and just needed something. The ones Bellamy had pulled out of her bag and run through his own dryer. 

Clarke feels hot all of a sudden, and she sees her flush skin in the mirror. No big deal that he'd seen her in nothing but a towel. No big deal at all. 

*

The ride back to campus is pleasant. Bellamy asks her about her majors (biology and art history), which she likes better (art history, but she'd never tell her mom that), and what she does in her free time (study, mostly. She's never really been the type to spend Thirsty Thursday down the block.)

Clarke asks Bellamy about his job, which he tells her is stressful but rewarding. 

“My boss is a bit of a hardass, but only because he wants us to win,” Bellamy explains. 

“Real talk, how screwed are you going to be showing up late?” Clarke asks.

“Well,” Bellamy says, frowning as he hits the breaks, traffic piling up ahead of them. “Let's just say it's a good thing my boss is a bleeding heart hippy who’s got a soft spot for good deeds.”

It's about fifteen minutes before Clarke’s class starts when they finally manage to get onto the campus itself. Clarke chews her lip, trying not to get fidgety. 

“You start at ten, right?” 

“Yeah. Probably going to be late by the time I drop my stuff and make my way to class. It’s just one of my art classes though, it’s fine.”

“You said you're majoring in art history,” he looks at her while he stops to let a few track runners pass across the road. “It’s a class for your major.”

“Not the major that matters though,” Clarke says ruefully, her mother’s voice echoing in her ears. “Just my time-consuming pet project.” 

“Let me drop you by your class; I was going to try and find Octavia and buy her lunch anyway, I’ll drop your stuff off when I go pick her up.” 

“You’re already late for work,” Clarke points out. “I can manage, like I said it doesn’t-”

“Clarke,” he says sharply, in that absurdly authoritative tone again. It should infuriate her, that he can get her to listen to him so easily, but the queasy excited feeling in her stomach isn’t nearly as frustrating as it should be. 

“Make a right, then it’s the second building on your side,” she says, biting back a smile. 

“Now was that really so hard?” he asks her, matching her grin. 

Bellamy pulls up to the curb and Clarke jumps out, grabbing her backpack from the back seat. 

**“** I don’t even know how to begin to pay you back,” she says, suddenly self-conscious that he’s doing her yet another favor.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Bellamy insists, talking to her through the open window of the car.

"At least let me give you gas money, or buy you a cup of coffee for the drive back-" 

"I’m serious, don’t worry about it," 

"There's got to be some way I can pay you back," Clarke whines. “You’ve already done way too much and now you’re helping even more.”

Bellamy contemplates for a moment. "Go out with me." 

"What?" Clarke’s certain she didn’t hear him correctly. It sounds like he just said-

"Friday night. Dinner. With me." 

Her mind all but short circuits. First he bails her sorry ass out of an absolute mess of a situation. Then he gives up a good night’s sleep in his own bed, goes out of his way to make sure she’s in class on time, and now he wants to _ask her out?_ Saying nothing of the fact that he is the _very attractive_ and _much older_ brother of her roommate and best friend.

“You’re serious?” she asks before she can stop herself. He has to be teasing her. She was practically naked in his house only a couple of hours ago, and he’d barely even looked at her. He knows for a fact her home life is a trainwreck, and by the way, she’s his baby sister’s roommate. There’s no way he actually wants her. God Clarke, don’t be naive. He looks at her for what can’t be more than a few seconds, but it feels like he’s trying to stare straight into her soul.

“I wouldn’t joke about something like that,” he says finally.

“Okay,” she agrees, a shy smile appearing on her lips. 

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he tells her.

“It’s a date,” Clarke shoots him one more appreciative smile before hitching her backpack across her shoulder and turning towards the building. 

"Oh, Clarke?" Bellamy asks, still from the car. 

"Yeah?" She replies, turning back to face him.

"Wear a pretty dress. I'm not one of these frat boys, we aren't going to the dive down the block." 

Clarke flushes scarlet, which makes Bellamy grin like he won a prize. "Get to class,"

“Sir, yes sir,” she says with mock salute.

An expression Clarke doesn’t recognize passes across his face. Suddenly all she wants to do is skip class and ask what’s going on inside his head.

He’s clearly better at reading her than she is him, because he tells her to get going again with a flick of his chin. Clarke grins wryly, warmth suddenly creeping over her as she heads into class. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic will be a labor of love, and will update on the first FRIDAY of every month. If you would like to prompt a chapter to be posted a week earlier, you can donate to T100FicforBLM . Feel free to check out the initiative and send myself and the other amazing writers and creators their prompts for a great cause. Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will be a labor of love, and will update on the first of every month. If you would like to prompt a chapter to be posted a week earlier, you can donate to T100FicforBLM . Feel free to check out the initiative and send myself and the other amazing writers and creators their prompts for a great cause. Thank you for reading!


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